  Govereau advanced menacingly. Backed by the rifles of the three villainous looking men with him, the three boys could do nothing. “What you do wiz my moose?” Govereau snarled. “Do you mean to say you shot that moose!” Dick exclaimed angrily. “It iss so,” Govereau avowed brazenly. “You lie!” Dick exclaimed hotly. “I shot that moose. I can prove it. What do you mean by holding us up this way. We have done you no harm.” “It iss Henderson bizness—zat.” Govereau turned and signaled his men to bind the three young men. “You’ll sweat for this,” Dick gritted. “Not so much as you,” Govereau taunted. “Young fellas like you should stay home wiz zee mamma.” Dick gritted his teeth again, but resolved to keep his mouth shut. He must save his breath to get Sandy and Toma out of the mess. It must have been Govereau’s men watching him when he had felt so queer on the trail of the wounded moose. Dick did not resist the moose-hide thongs as they were bound mercilessly tight about his wrists. Sandy and Toma followed his example. There were other ways of getting the better of Govereau, and it might be easier if they submitted, or seemed to submit, mildly to capture. They could see one of the men slicing steaks from the moose haunch before, at a guttural command, they were started off into the woods, northward along Limping Dog Creek. An hour’s tramping brought them to Govereau’s camp, four miles up the creek. The scar faced Indian was there to greet them. He leered at the captives hatefully. Dick felt that the Indian knew one of them had shot him at the camp forty miles away, and that the savage would do anything in his power to wreak vengeance. Govereau had made his headquarters in an old cabin, deserted by some trapper. There were two rooms, and the three young captives were shoved into the smaller of them, their hands still bound behind them. Probably their captors realized they would soon untie themselves, but since with the huge oaken bolt shot on the door, there was no way of getting out of the room, they did not bother themselves about it. “Well?” Dick turned to Toma and Sandy, when at last they were left alone. Toma’s face was as stolid as ever. Sandy had nothing to say. He sat down on the bunk at one side of the room. “I guess we’re in a pickle, all right,” Sandy said at last. Dick paced back and forth twice, then stopped before the door, which he carefully inspected. The door seemed heavy enough to repel the attack of a battering ram, say nothing of three boys. Dick turned back to Sandy and Toma. “Govereau will question us now, I suppose,” Dick spoke rapidly. “And he’ll probably take us out separately to see if our stories are the same. He’ll want to know just how much we know of Henderson’s movements and what we are trying to do against him.” “What shall we say?” Sandy scratched his head. Toma said nothing. The young Indian seemed to feel that the situation was beyond his ability to handle. “We’ll tell Govereau that we have been visiting the factor at Fort du Lac—spending our vacation there, and that we were on our way south—to return home. How’s that?” “That sounds all right,” Sandy responded, a little dubiously. “No go so far east if go south from Fort du Lac,” Toma’s dark eyes blinked rapidly. Dick thought a minute. “Then suppose we have some one at Fort Dunwoody that we want to see before we leave for home—a cousin.” “That’s the trick,” Sandy agreed enthusiastically. “Then we all understand what we’re to tell,” Dick resumed. “Toma, how about it?” “I tell um,” was the taciturn reply. “If Govereau believes our story he may let us go,” Dick concluded. “If he learns the truth he may do something worse than just hold us behind a locked door.” All three were silent for a time while Dick paced back and forth. Upon his shoulders he realized was now the bulk of responsibility. Toma might excel him on the trail, where native woodcraft and instinctive stealth was the chief requirement, but in the present situation Toma was at best only a willing servant. And it was Sandy’s nature to depend upon his chum, himself only offering what suggestions occurred to his lower mind. “I’ve a plan to escape, if this first scheme fails!” Dick suddenly stopped his pacing and looked about him. Sandy jumped as if shot, so sudden was Dick’s exclamation. “Let’s hear it,” the young Scotch lad cried eagerly. Toma brightened. Dick turned to Toma. “Sandy or I would be glad to do this,” he addressed the young guide, “but it’s just about impossible for us. Can I depend on your support, Toma?” “I do my best; what you say I do?” Toma promised sincerely. “My plan is this: when Govereau questions you, Toma, you are to express a desire to join him—to turn against us. See? With you on the outside there’s much more chance of escaping than with all three of us in here. Can you do it, Toma?” “I try.” “Then I’ll leave everything to you once you get outside. Of course, Govereau may get wise to what you are up to. But, again, he’s no doubt pretty anxious to get more men in his band.” As Dick concluded his instructions, there came a noise at the door, and the bolt was shot back. A sharp, rat-like face, that of a half-breed, was pushed in. “You come,” said the man, indicating Dick. Dick and Sandy both realized that a crisis was at hand. If they revealed their real mission to Govereau they would without doubt never reach the mounted police. Perhaps they would not reach them anyway, yet there was a good chance that Govereau might let them go if they convinced him of their ignorance of any of Henderson’s business. “Good luck, Dick,” Sandy’s voice was a little husky. “Never mind, old boy, I’ll make out,” Dick cheered him. Toma was visibly affected, and Dick reassured him also. Short as the time had been that Toma had been with them, there seemed already a strong bond of friendship between the young Indian and the two young adventurers. Dick squared his shoulders and followed the rat-faced half-breed into the other room. Dick now faced Pierre Govereau. The Frenchman was seated at a board table across from the door which just had been closed after Dick. At one side of the room a huge fireplace roared and crackled. The rat-faced half-breed went over and squatted before the fire, picking up a red-hot iron in a pair of tongs. Dick Kent shivered as he saw what the man was doing. But he met Govereau’s eyes unflinchingly. “What iss zee bizness you bean on when you make for zee Fort Dunwoody?” Govereau came straight to the point. “My friend and I are visiting in Canada,” replied Dick cooly. “The factor at Fort du Lac was an old friend of my chum’s father. I have a cousin in Fort Dunwoody that we wanted to call on before we went home.” “I zink you lie,” growled Govereau. He sat silent for a moment, glaring at Dick as if he would hypnotize the young man with his snake-like eyes. But Dick’s gaze did not falter. “Why you fear my men?” Govereau’s voice cracked like a whip. Dick hesitated a moment. Sandy’s uncle’s welfare might depend upon his misleading the villainous Govereau. “We had been told there were bandits along the trail to the fort,” Dick replied in a clear voice. “Haw!” scoffed Henderson’s lieutenant, and wheeled to the half-breed at the fireplace. “Napio, zee iron now. We make zee young upstart talk right.” Dick recoiled slightly as the Indian arose and came forward with a short piece of iron, red hot and smoking in the tongs. Govereau came out from behind the table. Dick’s hands were still tied behind him. The Frenchman seized Dick in an iron grasp and tore away his shirt front. “You tell zee truth now,” Govereau hissed. “Queeck, Napio!” The iron was pushed close to Dick’s naked breast. He could feel the heat of it already searing his skin. Then the door opened and the half-breed hesitated. Govereau turned, snarling at the interruption. An Indian stood in the door. “Men all go way,” said the intruder. “They drink firewater. M’sieu Govereau, you come bring them back.” “Throw him back in. We finish wiz him tonight,” Govereau ordered the half-breed. “Bring zee young white one. I come soon,” he waved away the Indian at the door. Dick reeled into Sandy’s arms a minute later as he was roughly pushed into the back room. “He’ll call you next, Sandy,” Dick gasped a little weakly. “If he asks you why you feared his men, say you thought they were bandits.” Sandy pressed Dick’s arm to signify he understood and followed the rat-faced half-breed out into the front room. Dick and Toma waited only a few minutes before the door opened and Sandy was pushed in once more. Govereau had not attempted to torture Sandy. He seemed in a hurry to go after his men. They could hear him cursing through even those thick, log walls, for Sandy’s story had tallied with Dick’s. It was Toma’s turn next, and Dick talked earnestly with the guide as to the method he was to use in convincing Govereau of his desires to be a traitor to his white friends. Dick was now certain that Govereau would not believe their story. Toma was their last chance. They waited for some time before Toma was called. Then the half-breed came again, and beckoned to the guide. In high suspense Dick and Sandy watched him disappear through the door. In a half hour they took courage. Toma had not come back. They waited an hour and still Toma was not thrown back among them. Their spirits rose. Toma had then convinced Govereau of his sincerity. It was growing dark now, and at any moment Dick expected Govereau to call for him again. The Frenchman seemed to have a personal enmity for Dick, perhaps because of the young man’s refusal to be cowed by browbeating. “What if Toma really does turn traitor?” Sandy broke a long silence. “I heard Uncle Walter say these Indians couldn’t be trusted too far.” “I don’t know why, but I trust Toma absolutely,” Dick replied confidently, “that Indian is smarter than we think. If Govereau really is convinced that Toma is going in with him we’ll soon be out of here. When I think what your uncle may be going through up there, I can’t sit still.” “Well, he couldn’t get much worse than we have already,” Sandy returned grimly. “Gee, I never thought we’d come to this when we left Fort du Lac.” “I could stand it better if I wasn’t so hungry and thirsty,” Dick declared. “You said it,” Sandy heartily sanctioned. “I guess they’re going to starve us too.” “Do you notice it’s growing colder?” Dick asked presently. “I thought maybe it was because we didn’t have any fire.” “I remember Toma said we were due for a blizzard,” Dick recalled. “Funny why Govereau doesn’t call one of us out again,” Sandy mused. “He’s after his men I expect. An Indian reported they were drinking while I was being questioned. The fellow saved me from being tortured.” Engaging in a wandering conversation, Dick and Sandy whiled away two more long hours, in which they managed to untie each other’s wrists, and kept warm by walking back and forth and swinging their arms. They were almost certain now that Govereau had gone. If so, then if Toma hadn’t been forced to go with the Frenchman, he would be more able to help them. It was along toward morning when Dick started up out of a doze to hear the sound of a blow and the muffled fall of a body in the front room. There was a sharp stifled cry. Then Dick shook Sandy to wakefulness. “What is it?” whispered Sandy, leaping to his feet. “S-s-sh,” Dick cautioned. Through the darkness in the room they could hear the heavy wooden bolt on the door of their prison sliding backward. |
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